Rest My Head

Who's voice is this that bids me come?

"Come, who are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest!"

My tear stained face falls on his chest.

His arms wrap around my shoulders and his cheek rests on my head.

A warm tear waters my locks.

His heart drowns my sorrow with each beat.

Away has the terror of my soul gone.

Here I stand in the shadow of the Oaken Tree.

This is my inheritance forever: that I may abide with my Creator again.